


Got You

by TrueIllusion



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Fluff, Flufftober, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: On the first Friday in October, David woke up feeling like he’d swallowed a cactus. Moaning, he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, nestling further down into the pillows in hopes that might somehow stop the pounding that he swore must have been coming from a cartoon mouse with a hammer who had taken up residence in his skull. He could feel sweat on his brow even though he was freezing cold, his teeth almost chattering as he shivered, despite being cocooned in their thick duvet and the heavy fleece blanket they’d put on the bed one chilly night in September.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 27
Kudos: 173





	Got You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, to PrettyTheWorld for beta reading this for me, and to blackandwhiteandrose for reading the stages of it as I put it together and providing encouragement along the way! Title borrowed from a song of the same name by the amazingly talented Noah Reid.
> 
>  **Prompt:** Comfort

On the first Friday in October, David woke up feeling like he’d swallowed a cactus. Moaning, he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, nestling further down into the pillows in hopes that might somehow stop the pounding that he swore must have been coming from a cartoon mouse with a hammer who had taken up residence in his skull. He could feel sweat on his brow even though he was freezing cold, his teeth almost chattering as he shivered, despite being cocooned in their thick duvet and the heavy fleece blanket they’d put on the bed one chilly night in September.

David could hear water running in the master bathroom, so it must have been time to get up, but the thick fog in his brain and the sheer exhaustion in his body made it seem like he’d barely slept at all. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolled over again, burying his face in the pillow this time. Every swallow felt like he was ingesting shards of glass, and when the fuck did it get so damn cold?

“David?”

Patrick’s voice brought David back to consciousness, even though he didn’t remember falling asleep again.

“Mmmph.” David’s muffled groan came out sounding just as raw as his throat felt.

“You okay?”

“Think ‘m sick,” David mumbled, his face still buried in the pillow.

The next sensation he felt was the gentle touch of Patrick’s fingers carding through his hair before settling on the back of his neck, tracing gentle circles over David’s skin. “Can you roll over, so I can feel your forehead?”

Even that simple action felt like a monumental task for David, who somehow felt even more drained than he had a few minutes before. When Patrick’s palm touched the skin of David’s forehead, it felt like ice, causing David to pull back with a whimper. “S’cold.”

“That’s because you’re burning up. Can you try to sit up for me, so I can take your temperature?”

David’s arms and legs felt like lead, but he did manage to surface his head and shoulders above the covers in a half-sitting, half-lying-down position, although the movement only served to crank up the incessant pounding his head and add to it a side of sudden nausea. He heard Patrick rummaging around in one of the drawers in the bathroom, exactly fifteen seconds before he felt Patrick’s hand cupping his jaw.

“Open up,” Patrick said, brushing his thumb over David’s stubble.

David opened his mouth just enough for Patrick to slip the thermometer under his tongue before closing it again, letting his head sink into the pillows. Thirty seconds later, a quiet beep signalled it was done, and Patrick slid the thermometer out from between David’s chapped lips.

“Wow, okay,” Patrick said, his concern clear in the unsteady tone of his voice.

“Hmm?” David cracked his eyes open a tiny bit, squinting against the bright morning sun streaming in through the window. “What is it?”

“38.3. So yeah, I’d say you’re sick.”

“Throat hurts,” David whispered. “And my head.”

Patrick’s fingers smoothed David’s hair back from his sweaty, sticky forehead. “We should probably go to the doctor,” he said. “Sounds like it could be strep.”

David let out another soft whimper and pulled the blankets back over his head.

“I know you don’t want to,” Patrick said, his voice soft as his hand found David’s forearm under the covers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But if that’s what it is, you need antibiotics. I’ll be right back; I’m gonna see if I can get you an appointment.”

After what felt like only a minute or two later but was probably quite a while, Patrick was gently tugging the blankets down, trying to help David out of his pajamas and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Thankfully, Patrick did most of the work, because David felt like he was moving through molasses, and even the most minute effort left him feeling like he’d run a marathon.

Once David was dressed -- including his Ugg boots and a soft, grey hoodie that, even in his half-conscious state, David was fairly sure belonged to Patrick -- he felt Patrick’s arm come around his waist, helping him stand and shuffle over to the door. Very slowly, the two of them made their way down the steps, David’s arm draped over Patrick’s neck, and Patrick taking on most of David’s weight.

When they arrived in the kitchen, David sank bonelessly into a chair while Patrick put on his shoes and grabbed his keys. Patrick’s hoodie was cozy, but it did absolutely nothing for the chill David felt as Patrick ushered him to the car and helped him into the passenger seat. He shivered most of the way to Elmdale, arms hugged tight around his torso, heat blasting from the vents on his side of the car, while Patrick kept his closed.

The waiting room at the doctor’s office was full of sniffling, coughing people that ordinarily would have made David cringe, but he was too exhausted to care, having collapsed into a chair in the far corner, well away from anyone else, his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick wrapped his fingers around David’s, stroking his thumb over David’s palm.

“You really do feel bad, huh?”

David gave a small nod, moving his head as little as possible so as not to amp up the incessant pounding any further.

“I texted Twyla; she’s going to put a sign up for us at the store.”

David knew he must have looked even more awful than he felt, if Patrick was willing to close the store on one of their busiest weekdays without a second thought, but he didn’t really have the energy to care about that either. When David’s name was called, Patrick helped him shuffle back to the exam room and climb up on the table, where he immediately laid down on his side and curled into a tight ball in an attempt to shut out the world -- and the constant pain in his head and throat.

Twenty minutes later, after being poked, prodded, and quite literally gagged with a cotton swab on a stick, David was officially diagnosed with strep throat, and they were back in Patrick’s car, sitting in the pharmacy drive-through, waiting on David’s prescription. Still freezing, David pulled his hood up and cinched it down around his face as he leaned against the door, knees pulled into his chest.

What felt like seconds later, Patrick was gently shaking David’s shoulder and whispering his name, and David blinked his eyes open to see that they were parked in their driveway.

“You fell asleep,” Patrick supplied, giving David a sad smile as he stroked a thumb over David’s jawline. “Let’s try to get you inside, okay? Then you can sleep all you want.”

Eyes half-closed, David stumbled into the house alongside Patrick, once again letting his husband take most of his weight because he felt too exhausted to stand, much less move.

“I’ve got you,” Patrick said softly, guiding him toward the stairs.

The trip upstairs felt like climbing a mountain, and by the time David was back in their bed, he felt out of breath and dizzy, letting his eyes slide shut just to keep the room from spinning around him.

“Be right back.” Patrick gave David’s shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he went back downstairs. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a pill, which he pressed into David’s hand.

David groaned, feeling how enormous the pill seemed in his hand, imagining how painful it was going to be sliding down his throat.

“I know,” Patrick lamented, the soft look in his eyes making it clear that he knew exactly what David was thinking. “But it’s just one pill a day. You can do it.”

Hesitantly, David laid the pill on his tongue and chased it with as large a gulp of water as he could muster, wincing as it scraped against his irritated, swollen throat.

“There you go.” In that moment, Patrick’s gentle voice reminded David of Adelina -- encouraging and comforting him even on his worst days of sickness as a child. “Do you want anything to eat? Maybe some oatmeal? Yogurt?”

David shook his head, already sinking further into the pillows as sleep tried to claim him once again.

“Okay. I put your phone on the nightstand. If you need anything, text me.”

David’s only response was a quiet hum from deep within the blankets, seconds before he fell asleep.

The next time David awoke, he’d suddenly gone from freezing cold to burning hot, throwing the covers off as he fumbled to unzip Patrick’s hoodie and tossed it to the floor. Adelina had always told him that being hot was a good sign -- that it actually meant his fever was going down -- but that didn’t make it any less miserable.

David continued to drift in and out of consciousness as the day wore on, at some point managing to choke down a small bowl of applesauce and a few spoonfuls of yogurt, which was all he could stomach. Eventually, Patrick curled up in bed with him, alternating between reading a book, working on his laptop, and holding David’s clammy, sweaty hand.

It was nice, having someone else there to take care of him -- someone who wasn’t his sister, whose nursing skills lacked a lot to be desired, or his mother, who could always be counted on to act as if he had the plague with even the tiniest sniffle, or his father, who tended to be more annoying than helpful, assuming he was even home. Patrick, on the other hand, navigated the situation perfectly -- bringing David everything he needed, being there when he craved comfort, and for the most part, just letting him sleep.

After making a feeble attempt at eating a bowl of butternut squash soup for dinner, David watched out the bedroom window with still-heavy eyelids as the sky grew more golden, eventually painting itself with shades of red and purple before giving way to darkness. Patrick turned on a movie from David’s extensive list of preapproved romcoms as he put on his pajamas and climbed into bed, holding out an arm to let David curl himself into his side, his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder, where he ultimately drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

The next morning, the fog had cleared and the headache had eased, though David’s throat still felt raw, and every swallow only made it feel worse. He could hear Patrick in the shower again as he squinted at the clock, which read 8:09 a.m. -- far too early to be awake, especially on a sick day. David let his eyes drift closed again, relishing in the fact that as long as he wasn’t swallowing, he actually didn’t feel that bad, aside from still being very, very tired. He’d just about fallen asleep again when a gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back to consciousness.

“Hey,” Patrick said, his voice as soft as his touch. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Better,” David rasped, his voice now sounding even worse than it had the previous day. “Except for my throat.”

“Yeah… strep’ll do that.” Patrick reached up and smoothed David’s hair back off his forehead. “Although that might be a benefit for me, since it’ll keep you from doing too much whining and complaining that you’re sick.”

“Hey, I don’t--” David paused and swallowed hard, really not liking how talking made his throat feel or the fact that he was essentially proving Patrick right. “I don’t whine.”

“Mmmkay.” Patrick laughed. “Sure, David.”

David said nothing, sticking his lower lip out into an exaggerated pout as Patrick’s teasing grin broadened.

“Do you think you’re okay for me to go into the store today? I hate to stay closed another day, but if you think you’ll need me, I’ll stay. I’ll even let you whine a little.” Patrick’s smile softened as he stroked a hand over David’s forearm.

“I’m okay,” David whispered, trying to evaluate whether or not that was less painful on his throat. Thankfully, it was, but only a little. “Think I just want to sleep for a little longer.”

“Okay. Promise me you’ll call me or Stevie if you need anything.”

David gave a small nod, his eyes already starting to close. A few minutes later, Patrick was setting a thermos full of tea with honey on the nightstand and pressing a gentle kiss to David’s forehead before leaving to open the store alone.

David slept off and on for most of that day, too, although he did manage at one point to get up and shower, which helped him feel even better. By the time Patrick got home, David had migrated to the living room sofa, where he spent the afternoon alternating between sketching and napping -- mostly napping -- grateful to finally feel at least somewhat human again.

“Jocelyn made you some chicken noodle soup,” Patrick said, as he put the small, yellow tupperware container in his hand down on the counter. “I guess she saw the sign on the window and just couldn’t help herself. How are you feeling? You look better.”

“Tired,” David said softly, wincing as he attempted to use his voice for the first time since that morning. “Hurts to talk.”

“Mmm… lucky me, then.” Patrick settled onto the sofa alongside David, one leg tucked under himself as he stroked David’s arm. “I can say whatever I want to you, and you can’t fight back.”

David furrowed his brow and crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning. “Rude.”

“I think I’ll be nice to you, though… since you’re sick.” Patrick gave David a teasing smile and reached out to wrap an arm around his shoulders, stroking his fingers lightly over David’s bicep. “Missed you today.”

David hummed, letting his eyes drift closed as he leaned his head against Patrick’s shoulder, relishing the comfort that his husband provided just through the simple act of touch. “Love you,” he murmured, sinking deeper into Patrick’s embrace and the security it offered.

“Love you more,” Patrick whispered, pressing a soft kiss to David’s temple.

They stayed tangled in each other’s arms for several more minutes before Patrick got up to reheat the soup, which actually wasn’t half bad, much to David’s surprise. Not long after that, they were upstairs again, their hands and arms and legs finding their way to their natural positions, wrapped around one another as they settled in for another night of married bliss.

This was exactly the sort of perfection that David had once longed for -- that he’d once given up on ever finding. Someone to love all of him, always -- someone to take care of him and comfort him, to love and protect him, no matter what. The perfection he’d found in Patrick Brewer -- the one person he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with.

David woke up the next morning feeling like a new person -- throat still a bit painful, but nowhere near as bad as it had been for the past two days, and his energy levels seemed to be well on their way toward returning to normal, finally. He blinked his eyes open to see that he was alone in bed, only this time he didn’t hear the shower, and a quick glance at Patrick’s alarm clock revealed it was past 9 a.m., which meant Patrick was already at the store.

Rolling onto his back, David stretched his arms above his head as he yawned, briefly entertaining the idea of surprising Patrick by going in, at least until the lingering soreness in his body reminded him that it was still probably too early for that. As he rolled onto his side and sat up, he saw that Patrick had once again left him a thermos of tea on the nightstand, along with his pill, a glass of water, and a note.

_I’ve got the store today. Get some rest, and I’ll see you tonight. Love you. - P_

Smiling to himself, David put on the Ugg slippers Alexis had sent him last month as a “just because” gift and padded into the bathroom. His cheeks were still rosy even though he no longer had a fever, and the dark circles under his eyes told the tale of the last 48 hours in more detail than David was willing to confront at the moment.

After a shower and completing all nine steps of his skincare regimen for the first time in three days, David put on his most comfortable sweats, grabbed his sketchbook and the thermos of tea and went downstairs, where he curled up on the couch to draw. He spent most of the day somewhere between drawing and dozing, letting his mind wander to wherever it liked. Once upon a time, that would have been a dangerous proposition, almost certainly ending in David’s thoughts descending into a spiral of anxiety and self-doubt. Now, though, everything in his life felt different, and all it had taken was finding the one person who made David feel right, in a way he hadn't thought was possible. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t occasionally still have his moments -- he definitely did -- but overall, Patrick really did make everything okay.

David was halfway through _10 Things I Hate About You_ \-- a perennial favorite that David didn’t think he’d ever get tired of, because, hello, Julia Stiles _and_ Heath Ledger, god rest his soul -- when he heard the back door open and the familiar sound of Patrick depositing his keys in the glass bowl on the counter.

David looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen, where Patrick was slowly shedding his jacket, draping it haphazardly over the back of a chair before shuffling into the living room and collapsing onto the couch alongside David with a heavy sigh.

“Hey,” David said, reaching out to settle a hand on Patrick’s knee. “You’re home early.”

Patrick’s eyes were closed, and he hardly moved his lips as he said, “I feel like shit. I stayed as long as I could.” Patrick swallowed, then winced. “Sorry.”

David pursed his lips and frowned, sliding his hand up to wrap his fingers around Patrick’s. “Don’t apologize.” He pressed his lips to Patrick’s forehead, in exactly the way Adelina had done for him when he was little, checking for a fever in the most loving and comforting way possible. “Mmm… you do feel warm.”

Patrick nodded, his brow furrowing as if the small movement hurt.

David took Patrick’s hands in his, brushing his thumbs over Patrick’s knuckles. “Let’s get you into bed, honey.” Gently, he tugged Patrick to his feet, supporting his husband with an arm around his shoulders as he led him up the stairs and down the hallway to their bedroom.

“David, I’m fine,” Patrick mumbled, making a weak attempt at protesting as David knelt to untie Patrick’s shoes before easing them off his feet.

“I know you are,” David said, placating his husband’s perpetual need to be in control and show no weakness, despite how obvious it was that Patrick was most definitely _not_ fine. “Let me help you anyway.”

Patrick let out a frustrated groan as David gently moved his legs to the bed, starting to tug off Patrick’s jeans so he could replace them with his softest flannel pajama pants. David halfway expected Patrick to make a joke about how much sexier it usually was when David undressed him, but the conspicuous absence of said joke tipped David off to exactly how terrible Patrick felt.

“David, you really don’t have to--”

“Shh.” David cut Patrick off with a kiss before lifting his husband’s favorite light blue sweater over his head and slipping it off of his arms. “I’ve got you.”


End file.
